Promise
by cautiousAlbatross
Summary: Dave is in love with John, and doesn't want to tell him.


Your name is Dave Strider and you're in love with your best friend.

John doesn't know you love him. You wonder what he'd say if he did. Sometimes, you watch him, thinking about what would happen if you just told him. You think: Tomorrow, I'll do it. But there's always another tomorrow, and you never quite feel brave enough. You think maybe it's better to stay quiet, and stay friends, than to speak up and lose him.

Then you find out you got into the same college, and of course John thinks it would be a brilliant idea for you to live together. You can't pass up the chance to live with him, so you agree, but at the back of your mind, a little voice is asking whether you really think this is a good idea. You ignore it. You do that a lot.

The voice comes back the first time John wanders into the kitchen, fresh out of the shower and wearing nothing but a towel. His hair is wet and drips of water are running down his torso and you nearly choke on your poptart.

"We got any milk?" he asks, pulling open the fridge and peering inside.

"I think so," you say, staring resolutely at your plate.

You can feel the tips of your ears burning red, and you hope he doesn't notice.

"I think it's out of date," he says, pulling out a carton and peering at it.

You watch him surreptitiously out of the corner of your eye. You wonder what he'd think if he knew what you were thinking.

"Probably," you say, stuffing the rest of your poptart into your mouth, dumping your plate into the sink, and going through into your bedroom.

You fling yourself onto your bed, throwing an arm over your face.

"I'll buy some more later," you say, raising your voice so he can hear you.

"I'll do it, I'm going out anyway."

"Where?"

"Meeting Rose."

You roll your eyes. Your sister would be meddling, wouldn't she? That new girlfriend of hers with the stupid name wasn't helping, either. What sort of a name was Kanaya, anyway?

"Have fun," you say, rolling over and burying your face in your pillow.

You can hear him humming as he wanders around the kitchen, and you find it a mixture of frustrating and adorable.

You wait til he leaves to take your own shower, and you spend a long time in there. You get dressed quickly when you get out, and wonder how long he's going to stay out. Knowing Rose, it could be a long time. Bored, you flop on the sofa and flick on the TV. You half-watch a cooking program, and find out you've been using a frying pan wrong. You didn't know there was a wrong way to fry food, but apparently there is. By the time John gets in, you're getting invested in a soccer game between two English teams you've never heard of.

"Have you just spent three hours watching bad TV?" he asks, throwing his keys down on the counter.

"Two and a half," you correct him, "And I really want the blue team to win."

"What are they called?"

"No idea."

He laughs, and you turn the TV off.

"Have fun talking to Rose?" you ask, grinning.

"You have no idea," he replies, rolling his eyes.

You just nod, thinking you have plenty enough of an idea.

"Hey, I'm ordering pizza," he says, picking up the phone.

"Margherita, extra cheese," you say, without even pausing to think.

"Medium or-"

"Large."

"Feel like sharing?"

You pause for a moment.

"All right."

"Garlic bread? Coke?"

"Yes and fuck yes."

"Cool."

Glancing at the clock, you see it's only two in the afternoon. A late lunch, then.

"Hey, is there anything good on?" he asks, flopping onto the sofa next to you and grabbing the remote from under your leg, then turning the TV on.

"Doubt it," you reply, shrugging and relaxing back, your arms spread across the sofa back.

"Well, is there anything not excruciatingly awful on?"

"Maybe."

He leans in against you and starts flipping through the channels. He settles on Disney Channel and you let your arm drop down around his shoulders. He rests his head on your chest, and you can feel his laughter after every lame joke. You've never been more upset to hear the doorbell ring, and have pizza arrive. You didn't think you could be disappointed to have pizza.

"Pizza," John says, dumping the box in your lap, "Do you want glasses for the Coke?"

"Nah. Where's the garlic bread?"

"Here," he says, dropping it on the pizza box.

You open up the box, grab a slice, and wrap it around a couple of pieces of garlic bread. John pulls a face as you start to eat it.

"What?" you ask through a mouthful.

"Gross," he says, taking a delicate bite from the end of his slice.

"Shut up," you say, swatting him.

"Make me."

You grin, and try to shove your pizza-garlic bread sandwich into his mouth. He squeals and pulls away, shaking his head. Rolling your eyes, you take another bite.

"It's good," you say.

He gives it an apprehensive look, then leans in and takes the smallest bite possible.

"It's okay," he says, shrugging.

"Come on, it's great."

"No, it's just okay."

You roll your eyes, and take another bite.

"Fine, all the more for me," you say, your mouth full.

He pokes his tongue out at you, and you laugh.

After you finish the pizza, he settles down against your chest again and turns the TV on, with the volume down so low you can't even hear it. You wonder whether he's really thinking about what he's doing. Part of you hopes he is.

"Hey," he says, "So... I was talking to Rose earlier."

"Yeah?"

You wonder what this is leading up to.

"She seems to be... fairly certain... that you..."

You feel your heart speed up. Could this be...?

"I what?" you ask, unable to disguise the note of hope in your voice.

"That, well... Your feelings for me are, um, kind of romantic. Basically. Uh."

"Oh."

You pause for a moment, wondering what you should say.

"Well. Um. She's right."

You tense up, waiting for him to pull away. Instead, he just sighs.

"I wish you'd just told me," he says, "How long have you been waiting?"

"A while."

Sitting up, he turns around so he can see your face.

"You idiot," he says, leaning in and kissing you.

"Sorry," you say, pulling away after a moment, "I didn't think... that you... felt the same."

"You should have told me anyway."

He shifts so he's straddling you, and rests his forehead against yours, staring into your eyes.

"Sorry."

He kisses you again, tilting your head back.

"No more secrets, okay?" he says, kissing along your chin.

"Okay."

You can feel a little ball of happiness swelling inside you, and you wonder why you didn't tell him sooner. You think you won't be keeping any more secrets from him.

"Promise?"

"Promise."

He smiles and kisses you. You think you'll do your best to keep that promise. It's working well so far.


End file.
